Broken Hearts
by myzteek
Summary: Ron is having a hard time getting over what happened when Voldemort killed Harry. He feels there is no-one left to save him. Or is there?


He knew he was going downhill.

He'd stopped eating, rarely slept and had completely withdrawn himself from the rest of the world.

His family had been trapped inside his house and had perished; his best friend had been killed by the hand of Voldemort after stepping in front of a curse that was meant for him; he was alone in the world.

Or was he?

She had been there since the very start, always willing to help in any way she could, sometimes arguing, but the arguments never got bad enough so that they hurt each other with bad words, but nevertheless, she was always there.

She was one of the very last Order members left, and he was in love with him.

Ever since Voldemort had risen once again, he'd started picking the Order members off once again.

Mungdungus Fletcher was the first to go, being betrayed by one of the dodgy wizards he used to associate with.

Tonks was the next, and soon there were only a handful of members left.

Dumbledore, Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, Hermione Granger, Minerva McGonagall and himself, Ron.

Everyone was either dead or captured.

After the death of Harry, Ron had barely escaped from Voldemort alive.

He hadn't even had time to get his best friends' body and give him a proper burial. He blamed himself for Harry's death.

Five months after Harry died, Ron replaced him with someone he fondly called Sting.

It was a small knife which he concealed in the fold of his sheets on his bed.

Every time he was feeling depressed, or when another member of the Order died, he cut his upper thigh deep enough to scar, and he healed the muggle way.

He had a lot and he could no longer count them.

He was used to the pain of the blade cutting through his skin. He thrived on the pain, laughed at the way his blood spilled over his thigh and liked the way it burned afterward.

He'd convinced himself that everything was his fault, so he deserved every bit of pain he got.

A few months into his 7th year, he was feeling heavily depressed.

Most of the teachers had been replaced and Dumbledore was hardly around.

The subjects were harder and he had to put up with taunting from Slytherin.

Ever since Snape had died, however, they weren't as nasty as usual. Malfoy was looking for someone to blame, and every chance he got was spent being as nasty as he could to Ron.

And that's when Ron finally cracked.

He wanted to find ways to die, so he wrote down lists and eliminated ways to kill himself.

Finally, after a month of searching, he found a potion that would kill a person in 12 hours. The pain it inflicted was described as horrible as being under the _crucio_ curse.

Good, he thought triumphantly.

He copied the potion down, and by the time he'd gotten the ingredients and prepared it, it was almost time for the summer holidays.

He wanted to die before school ended; he didn't want another to spend another 3 months by himself…

He bottled the potion and Vanished every trace of it.

He waited until everyone was asleep. At just after 1.30 am, he crept out of the dormitories and into the common room. Just as he was about the slip through the portrait door, an invisible force tripped him up.

"Hermione?" he said in disbelief. "What are you doing here, in Harry's old cloak?"

"Ron, are you ok?" she asked. With true concern, Ron realised.

"You aren't talking to anybody. You've been depressed since Harry died."

"Hermione, if you know what's good for you, you won't stop me."

"Ron, I need to tell you something. Before you go off and do whatever it is, there's something you need to know," she said, tears in her eyes.

"I love you, Ron. I love you."

Ron's stomach seemed to plummet. She loves him?

She stepped forward and shyly kissed him on the cheek.

"I know what you're going to do, and I'm going to be by your side, just like every other time that you're feeling down," she whispered in his ear.

It's true, he thought. She was the only one to ever try to reach out to him.

But Hermione, his first true love, dying?

No, he wouldn't allow it. She should live to an old age and raise children and be happy.

He walked silently to the Room of Requirement and walked by the wall, thinking hard.

_I need a quiet place to die, I need a quiet place…_

At last, a door appeared.

Ron entered, followed closely by Hermione.

He turned around to face her. "Please, don't do this," he pleaded, as though it was her that was about to die.

"No," she stubbornly said. "You've suffered enough on your own, this time I'm here to suffer with you."  
He could see there was no way he was going to talk her out of it, so he uncorked the vial of potion and drunk it all, in front of her eyes.

"No!" she cried out. "You cannot do this to me!"

She kissed him fiercely, swallowing some of the deadly potion that remained in his mouth.

Tears welled in his eyes. He didn't want to be the cause of her death too.

"I love you too, Hermione," whispered Ron as she hugged him.

Together, they lay down on the massive death bed as the first wave of pain hit them, together.

When Dumbledore found them, care of the Marauders' Map, he found them lying on a big bed, Ron, his arms wrapped around Hermione andholding hands.

Tears came to his eyes as he summoned a large sheet to cover their still, cold bodies.


End file.
